


The Actor Inside

by theimprobable1



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, Episode Related, Episode: s02e20 Competitive Wine Tasting, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27010501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimprobable1/pseuds/theimprobable1
Summary: “Access and share with us a profoundly deep and painful memory.”“I was captain of my high school football team.”*An alternate version of Competitive Wine Tasting.
Relationships: Troy Barnes & Abed Nadir, Troy Barnes & Britta Perry, Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Comments: 15
Kudos: 214





	The Actor Inside

Troy just wanted a normal acting class. He wanted to pretend to be someone else, because he’s actually pretty good at that, and to choose a cool stage name. Instead, Professor Garrity makes them sit in a circle on the floor and share painful memories, which in Troy’s opinion isn’t very relevant to acting at all. He’s never had to remember anything painful to be in Abed’s movies or to reenact famous tropes with him.

Garret doesn’t seem to have Troy’s misgivings and shares a story about not being able to go on the swings, which Troy can really sympathize with, but then Professor Garrity’s attention focuses on him.

“You’re up.”

Troy startles, panicking. “Me? Um... I don't think…”

“I don't want you to think,” Professor Garrity says, covering Troy’s eyes with his hand, which feels really weird. “Feel. Go back. Dig in, emotilize. Something hurt you.”

What is he supposed to say? A profoundly deep and painful memory. He doesn’t have that! What even _is_ that? He tries desperately to think of something that hurt him, and for some reason the first thing that comes to his mind is, “I was captain of my high school football team.”

For a second he’s pleased with himself for having thought of something, but everybody groans with contempt.

“It was very hard being popular,” he tries to explain, but even as he says it he can hear how lame it sounds. It was hard being popular? Who complains about being popular?

“What a loser,” someone murmurs, and Troy feels like that, like a loser, hotly embarrassed in a class that was supposed to be easy, that he was supposed to be _good_ at.

“Okay, great,” Garrity says dismissively. “Next person.”

“I've always felt somehow ignored, almost invisible,” says a girl that seems vaguely familiar, but Troy can’t focus enough to place her. If only he could come up with something else to say, something that would sound actually painful instead of ridiculous… “Every time I go to say something, somebody…”

“Actually,” Britta speaks loudly over the girl, “I think we should acknowledge that many people won’t feel comfortable sharing deeply personal experiences in this environment. You can’t fabricate trust simply by calling this a ‘trust circle’. Nobody should be shamed for being unwilling to share their very real trauma with a bunch of relative strangers.”

This starts an argument between people who agree with Britta and those who think she should shut up and stop ruining things. Eventually, Professor Garrity agrees that everyone should close their eyes and think about a painful memory, but that nobody has to share what the memory was about unless they want to.

Troy closes his eyes, but all he can think about is how stupid he feels. And it’s not the regular kind of stupid, like when he says something and then everyone looks at him funny and he realizes that what he said was weird even though he doesn’t know why. This is worse, this is the kind of stupid he tries not to think about ever, the kind that made him end up at Greendale instead of a regular college on a football scholarship. And he’s glad he ended up here, because if he hadn’t he would never have met Abed and the rest of the study group and he can’t even imagine his life without them anymore, but he also knows he’s here only because he’s _dumb._ He had everything, people admired him and were jealous of him, and he blew it by _being dumb._

He realizes he’s crying, which makes him feel even worse.

“This,” Professor Garrity says with satisfaction, “this is where acting begins.”

*

“Are you okay?” Britta asks him after the class ends, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

“Yeah,” Troy mumbles, avoiding her eyes. “Are you?” he asks, since he wasn’t the only one who started crying during the class. Britta didn’t, but she doesn’t look too happy either.

She nods, giving him a small, forced smile, and Troy gets the feeling that they’re both lying. Maybe Britta had an actual painful experience, unlike Troy. Something she doesn’t want to talk about. She probably had, actually, which is why she said what she said. She’s probably upset for real, unlike Troy, who’s just dumb and unable to deal with it.

“Do you wanna go get some ice cream?” he offers.

Britta gives him a smile that looks a little more real. “Sure, why not.”

They get ice cream in the cafeteria and take it outside to sit on a bench on the quad, and they don’t talk about the class. Instead, Troy tells Britta about the time he and Abed reenacted a murder mystery in Pierce’s mansion and accidentally convinced the housekeeper that Pierce had really been murdered, because he knows that it will either make her laugh or make her outraged on the housekeeper’s behalf but either way it will distract her from whatever her painful memory was. And because thinking about Abed always makes him feel better, though not as good as actually seeing him when he joins them a short while later.

“Hey, Abed,” Britta says, cheerful now. “How was your – shoot, what time is it?” She checks her watch. “I gotta run.”

She gathers her bag, turns to Troy and leans in to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Troy. See you guys tomorrow!”

She gets up and hurries away. Abed looks between Troy and her retreating form with his eyebrows drawn together.

“What’s going on?” he asks before sitting down in the spot Britta has just vacated.

Troy shakes his head. “Nothing. Acting class was weird.”

“Did you get to choose a stage name?”

“No. We had to sit in a circle and think about painful memories.”

Abed looks confused but intrigued. “Why?”

“Apparently that’s how actors become visible,” Troy says, although it occurs to him now that that’s clearly bullshit because then he’d be invisible. But he doesn’t want to talk about that. “Are we still on for tonight?” he asks, changing the subject to their planned movie night.

“Of course. I’ve got everything ready.”

As they walk to Abed’s dorm, Abed tells him about his _Who’s the Boss_ class and his concerns that the teacher has missed key elements of the show, and Troy lets himself be distracted. There’s movies and video games and Abed, but the heavy feeling remains just under the surface. When Abed asks him if he wants to stay the night he agrees readily, not wanting to be alone.

He’s lying in bed staring at the underside of the top bunk, thoughts chasing themselves in circles in his head, when he finally finds the nerve to talk about what’s on his mind.

“I didn’t have a painful experience to share in acting class,” he says quietly into the dark, unsure if Abed is even still awake. Abed hums to indicate he’s listening.

“I said it was hard to be a popular football captain, like a loser,” Troy admits, cringing.

There’s a moment of silence before Abed speaks. “But that _was_ a painful experience for you,” he points out, confusion clear in his voice. “You hurt yourself because of it.”

“Yeah, but,” Troy mumbles, feeling heat rising in his cheeks at the reminder. “But he meant like, emotional pain, you know.”

“I know,” Abed says softly. “People don’t hurt themselves because they’re happy.”

Troy swallows around a lump in his throat.

“But I wanted that. I wanted to be captain, and to be popular and to fit in. I had what I wanted. That’s not a painful experience.” He hates himself for even complaining about this to Abed, of all people, who had actual painful experiences in high school. Especially since he knows that if he and Abed had gone to the same high school at the same time, Troy would have been one of the people _causing_ those painful experiences. 

“But you didn’t like the person you had to become to achieve that,” Abed says in a way that manages to be matter-of-fact and gentle at the same time. “Forcing yourself into that role hurt you. Acknowledging that doesn’t make you a loser.”

Troy doesn’t know what to say to that. He thinks about the person he used to be, Troy the Wonder Boy, T-Bone, prom king. Was that a role he was forcing himself to play?

“That’s actually not an uncommon coming-of-age arc,” Abed says when Troy is quiet for a little too long. “Rejecting the expectations of society or your peers or your parents and learning to embrace who you really are.”

“I’m not sure I know who I really am,” Troy murmurs.

“That’s okay. You’ll figure it out. There’s no deadline.”

Troy wants to do that, he knows with a sudden conviction. He wants to know who he is and he wants to be able to _embrace it_ the way Abed does, without fear of rejection or not being good enough. It comes easier with Abed by his side.

“I like the person I am when I’m with you,” he breathes into the dark. For some reason it feels like an admission of – something. _You make me better. I never want to be without you. You’re what I need to be my best self._

“I like that person too,” Abed whispers, and Troy’s heart gives a hard thump. “And I think you’re doing really well at your character development arc. It would make for a very satisfying plotline.”

Troy feels himself blush at Abed’s praise. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Thank you.”

There’s quiet for a moment as Troy thinks about Abed’s ability to make him feel better with just a few words, the way Abed seems to understand him better than he understands himself, and how grateful he is to have Abed for a friend.

“Troy?” Abed breaks the silence after a while.

“Yeah?”

“This feels like a scene that should end with a hug. Am I reading that right?”

Troy smiles to himself. “Yeah. You are.”

“Cool.”

He hears Abed move above him, the bed creaking, and then Abed’s dark shape lands softly on the floor next to him. Troy shifts closer to the wall, and it’s only after he’s done it that he realizes he’s making room for Abed, asking him to join him in his bed. He wonders briefly if that’s weird – Abed said _hug,_ not _cuddle in bed –_ but Abed doesn’t seem fazed. He slides under the covers like he always meant to do that, gathering Troy in his arms.

A small sigh escapes Troy’s lips. He loves hugging Abed, but this, being held like this, just the two of them in a cocoon of blankets, safe and warm and comfortable, makes him feel like everything’s right in the world. He slips an arm around Abed’s waist, nuzzles into his neck, and relaxes into the embrace.

Old Troy never had this. Old Troy could never have this, could never cuddle with a male friend like this, could never admit he wanted it. But New Troy can. And if Troy needed more proof that he’s on the right path, then this is it – being with Abed like this feels so good and right it couldn’t possibly be wrong.

This is a common coming-of-age arc, Abed said, and Abed knows these things. So Troy doesn’t have to be ashamed. (He still is, but knowing that he doesn’t have to be helps.) He doesn’t have to be ashamed that his painful experience is something that sounds like a good thing.

It wasn’t a good thing for him.

It’s strange to think that about something he tried so hard for. He doesn’t remember a time he didn’t want to be good at football. It made his dad proud of him, it made boys admire him and want him on their team, it made girls interested in him without him having to do anything to earn their attention, and he was never very good at anything else. It was a lifeline, something to latch onto, something that gave him a – a script to follow, a role to play. A role that was coveted and desirable, a role that was proof he was successful.

And he hated it.

It’s not that he hates football. He likes playing for the Greendale Human Beings, because that comes with no expectations, no pressure, and absolutely no status. It’s fun, but maybe dance is more fun. And getting drunk at a party is fun too, it’s not like he never wants to do that, but maybe his ideal Friday night is watching a bad action movie in a blanket fort with his best friend while drinking Special Drink. And girls are pretty, but maybe --

Abed shifts against him, his breathing now slow and steady in his sleep. It’s too dark for Troy to make out his face, but he doesn’t actually need to see him to remember every single detail of his features.

Maybe Abed is pretty, too.

He thinks about the person he is with Abed. It’s a person that Old Troy would mock mercilessly. A nerd. Someone who’s too emotional and cries easily. Someone who likes to hold hands with a boy. Someone who would turn down a hot librarian so he could be with his friend instead.

Star quarterbacks don’t look at their teammates the way Troy kind of maybe wanted to look sometimes. Prom kings don’t try to avoid touching their girlfriends. The most popular guys in school think that the hottest person in _King Arthur_ was Keira Knightley, not Clive Owen. But Troy isn’t any of those things anymore. He’s just Troy. There’s no role for him to play anymore. He doesn’t have to keep acting. He can stop.

He can stop.

*

All anyone cares about the next day is Pierce’s unexpected engagement to Wu Mei. Troy wonders briefly if he’ll still be allowed to live in Hawthorne Mansion when Pierce is married, but he’s pretty sure Pierce mostly forgets Troy lives there at all, so he thinks he’s better off not asking about it. His thoughts are mostly elsewhere. 

He watches Britta and tries to figure out if he finds her attractive or if he just knows that she is because Jeff used to be into her. She catches him looking at one point and smiles at him, and Troy notices Abed giving the two of them an odd look before he goes back to focusing on his textbook. 

In acting class, Professor Garrity explains how they’re supposed to channel their pain into acting. Troy doesn’t know why they can’t channel happiness instead, but on the other hand, if most of Troy’s life before Greendale had been a performance, maybe Garrity has a point. He mostly just tries not to attract attention to himself, since everyone in this class thinks he’s pathetic anyway and he doesn’t feel up to explaining character development arcs to them.

“I don’t know if I’ll keep taking this class,” Britta says when the class ends and they get assigned drinking a glass of cognac in a bathtub as homework. “His lack of concern for students’ mental health is extremely irresponsible.”

Troy isn’t really paying attention, but he hums in agreement – three more people burst into tears this time.

“I think we should complain to the Dean. You can’t just tell people to access their most painful memories and then expect them to be _fine,_ and I doubt he’s a licensed therapist who knows how to handle that.”

“Britta,” Troy interrupts her. “I’m sure you’re right, but, um. I just wanted to say.”

Britta stops halfway up the steps towards the exit. “Yes?”

“I wasn’t – fine, yesterday, after this class. But then I hung out with you, and that helped. And then I talked to Abed about it, and that helped even more. And I don’t know if you have someone like that. Someone you can talk to about anything. So, um. I just mean you can always talk to me. If you want.”

Britta stares at him with wide eyes for just long enough that embarrassment starts creeping up Troy’s neck.

“Troy,” she exhales. “ _Thank you._ I – I feel like I’m seeing a whole different side of you.”

Troy laughs awkwardly. “Yeah, me too.” She can have no idea how much he means it.

Britta steps closer to him and throws her arms around his neck. She smells of something citrusy and a hint of weed and her body feels nice against his, warm and soft, and Troy likes hugging her, but… that’s all there is.

“You can always talk to me too,” she says earnestly. “I know you have Abed, but if you ever--”

“I think I’m gay,” Troy blurts out. He doesn’t mean to, he’s not even sure if he’s sure (except he is) and he didn’t check if the classroom was empty and now he absolutely can’t check, screwing his eyes shut, not wanting to know if anyone was there to hear him. 

Britta tenses in his arms for a second but then immediately squeezes him harder. “Oh, _Troy._ Thank you for telling me.”

Troy’s whole brain is crying. Or maybe not exactly crying – this feels like an entirely new brain situation. His brain is running around in circles while clutching at its hair (do brains have hair?) and screaming at the top of its lungs (do brains have _lungs?),_ which is what Troy wants to do right now. But Britta’s holding him, and rubbing his back, and saying something about being proud of him, and gradually the brain-screaming feeling goes away, and the world doesn’t stop existing even though there’s a person alive in it now who thinks of Troy as a gay man.

*

Pierce’s engagement party takes place in the restaurant where Troy and Abed dined and dashed not so long ago, so Troy is a bit nervous at first, but nobody seems to recognize them and the party goes about as well as it can with Chang in attendance (Troy doesn’t think anybody invited him, there are only eight chairs at the table), right until the moment when Pierce stands up to give a speech.

“Thank you all for coming. I know it seems fast, but when you find the right person, you know. I know because I’ve found the right person seven times. So the drinks are on me, but avoid the limp-wristed barman, it’s clear he only knows how to make girly drinks.”

“Pierce!” Britta gasps, and Troy has a sudden sense of approaching doom. “You can’t talk like that!”

Pierce shrugs. “Like what?”

“With obvious disrespect towards the LGBT community! Someone sitting at this table could be gay for all you know!”

All of Troy’s blood freezes in his veins. She’s going to out him. She won’t mean to, she’ll be trying to protect him, but she’ll do it, and then everyone will know, and Abed will figure out how Troy feels about him because it must be so obvious once you know what to look for, it’s going to happen and there’s nothing Troy can do to stop it because he can’t move and he can’t breathe and he can’t --

“Everyone already knows about you, Britta,” Pierce tells her uncaringly, though Troy can barely hear him over the rushing in his ears.

“Well, if it _was_ me – which it could be – your insensitive comments would be creating a hostile environment where I wouldn’t feel safe to --” Britta’s passionate tone falters suddenly as she jerks next to Troy as if someone had kicked her and she stumbles over her words, “... be myself, and I’d probably want me to shut up right now,” she finishes in a more subdued voice, but nobody’s paying attention to her anymore because Jeff has appeared next to Pierce.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” he announces with a self-satisfied smirk, and the rest of his words wash over Troy without making much of an impression. Something about Wu Mei being a corporate spy. His heart is beating a mile a minute and he feels like he’s just narrowly avoided being run over by a train. When he finally processes that the danger has passed, he realizes that everyone is focused on Jeff and Pierce and Wu Mei and they’ve all probably already forgotten everything Britta said. It’s fine. They have no reason to assign more meaning to Britta’s words than her usual random social justice outbursts, and surely no one noticed Troy’s internal panic and they have no reason to put the two together, except…

Except Abed.

Abed ignores Pierce’s drama and instead catches Troy’s eye with a meaningful look, mouthing “Breathe.” He takes in an exaggeratedly deep breath and then exhales slowly through his mouth without breaking eye contact.

Troy remembers the breathing exercises Abed taught him when Troy had a nightmare the night after the Halloween party, and he follows Abed’s pattern until his heart rate calms down.

Of course Abed noticed Troy panicking. Abed notices everything, and he’s especially good at noticing things about Troy. And he’s really smart, so it’s possible, probable even, that he… knows now.

Troy swallows uncomfortably, but Abed’s eyes on him are soft and gentle, and when he notices that Troy’s breathing easier now, he gives him a small, encouraging smile.

Maybe it’s okay if Abed knows. Troy will still have to tell him, because they tell each other everything. But when he’s ready to do that, it will be fine. Abed will be okay with Troy being gay, and if it turns out that Troy really feels what he suspects he feels about Abed, Abed will be okay with that too, whether or not he feels the same, because he’s Abed, and he’s awesome, and he cares about Troy. And that means that the rest of it will be okay too, because Troy can do anything with Abed by his side.

Tentatively, he smiles back.

Abed’s eyes sparkle happily in response and they both turn to where the main action is just in time to see Wu Mei storming off.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Abed says quickly, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Record scratch app!”

“Troy, I am so sorry,” Britta whispers to him in the ensuing chaos, looking suitably ashamed. “Sometimes I don’t think before I speak.”

“I know how that feels,” Troy says, patting her arm. He glances at Abed, who he knows will explain to him later what exactly happened with Jeff and Wu Mei while Troy was distracted, and who is the best friend Troy could ever want. “It’s fine.”

“Hey, who’s up for a ketchup fight at my place?” Chang asks loudly.

“I think you mean Jeff’s place,” Annie points out. “And didn’t he kick you out?”

“Yeah, but I’ve still got the keys,” Chang says smugly, twirling the keychain around his index finger.

Troy and Abed exchange a look, grin at each other, and follow Chang out of the restaurant. And when their hands brush against each other as they walk and it sends a spark through Troy’s body, there’s no voice in his head telling him to move his hand away, because he’s not acting anymore. He’s Troy Barnes.


End file.
